


Happy Birthday, Tooru

by sugawarasenpai



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: birthday fic, friendship fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 17:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11560233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugawarasenpai/pseuds/sugawarasenpai
Summary: Quick drabble for Oikawa's birthday cause I wanted to dosomething. Mostly just a friendship fic. Teen for some language.“Figured you’d still be here,” Iwaizumi mutters, his voice soft, quiet, his scowl fading into something more bemused.





	Happy Birthday, Tooru

_High School, First Year_  

When he hears a soft grunt from behind his shoulder, Oikawa starts. He figured he was the only one still here, other than Coach Mizoguchi, who was back inside still, closing up the gym for the evening. Oikawa had been sure Iwaizumi slipped off early to head home already, had been sure the awful things he said to Iwaizumi meant he wouldn’t talk to him again for _days._ He exhales, a sigh of relief.   

Oikawa turns to him with a smirk, “I knew you couldn’t stay away--” he says, but stops short when he sees the too-serious scowl etched into Iwaizumi’s face. He shuffles back on his heel then, unsure. 

He should apologize for earlier. It was, admittedly, needlessly mean. But then he remembers how hurt he is, how he can’t possibly believe Iwaizumi forgot …  so no, _Iwaizumi_ should apologize. Oikawa chews at the inside of his lip. Waits.  

“Figured you’d still be here,” Iwaizumi mutters, his voice soft, quiet, his scowl fading into something more bemused.   

The warm breeze licks at Oikawa’s face, ruffling his hair with irritation as they stand at the edge of the stairwell outside the club room. There is no apology between them. 

Oikawa breathes, forces himself to move, heads out toward the walkway, toward the stone steps at the edge of the school. He counts the steps as he heads home, because Iwaizumi is making him uneasy. Because he’s still mad at him. Because he’s mad at himself. 

“Hey, wait up!” Iwaizumi calls after him, grabbing the strap of Oikawa’s bag to hold him back as he reaches the bottom. 

Oikawa stops. Scuffs at a patch of grass that’s pushed itself up through the cracks of the sidewalk. He doesn’t meet Iwaizumi’s eyes, but they fall into step. He’s weak and he knows it. He grits his teeth against the thought. 

The silent walk to the bus stop isn’t so unusual, but Oikawa never stops hating it. He’d break the tension with aimless chattering, but he isn’t sure of what to say. They both deserve the silence, anyway. 

Just before reaching the crosswalk, Iwaizumi halts, sudden, and crouches down next to the corner of the imposing concrete wall, shielded under the shadow of an overgrown tree. He’s rifling through his over-sized backpack, his face severe. 

“Iwa-chan, you look suspicious,” Oikawa turns back around to squint down at him. 

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi mumbles, and sticks his army-green pocket knife between his teeth as he continues sifting through the contents of his bag. 

“That really doesn’t help…” Oikawa offers, amused, and crouches down next to him. Iwaizumi has piqued his curiosity. He’s grateful for the distraction. 

“Here,” Iwaizumi says finally, thrusting what looks like a crumpled paper bag at him, wrapped haphazardly in twine. 

Oikawa simply raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Just take it!” Iwaizumi nearly shouts, teeth grit. There’s a flush creeping into his freckled cheeks. 

It’s cute, Oikawa decides. 

So Oikawa takes it. Once in his hands, he realizes there is something box-shaped inside the mass of crumpled paper. How poorly it’s wrapped is an honest feat. His eyes go wide then, realizing that yes, it is in fact, a gift. A gift that Iwaizumi _wrapped._ It has to be.  

Oikawa’s face cracks into a smile he couldn’t help if he tried. It’s so _ugly_ but he holds it gently now, suddenly something fragile. 

“I can’t possibly untangle--” he starts, fingers hooking into the twine, tugging, but Iwaizumi is already handing him the knife. 

“Yeah, I figured as much,” Iwaizumi mumbles and leans against the concrete wall, arms crossed, needlessly defiant, watching. 

“I figured you forgot my birthday…” Oikawa whispers, more to himself than anything, as he cuts through three different strings before the mess of twine comes undone. 

“Pfft, with how much you went on about it last week, who could possibly forget,” Iwaizumi mutters. 

Oikawa elbows him gently with a smirk, hands him back the knife, and tears away the brown crumpled paper. 

“Pocky?” Oikawa barks out with a laugh once he’s unwrapped the familiar white-lettered, red cardboard box. He squints over at Iwaizumi. “ _Really?_ And you wrapped it?”  

“Just open it!” Iwaizumi growls out. 

Oikawa sighs. He rolls his eyes. He opens it. 

Except inside is very much _not_ pocky. He peeks up at Iwaizumi a moment, questioning, before, peering back into the darkness of the box. Instead, a strange, white plastic shape, about the size of his hand is inside. Oikawa fishes it out with his fingers.  

When the sunlight filtering through the tree branches above hits the grubby plastic toy, illuminating it, Oikawa recognizes it instantly. 

A gasp escapes him. 

His pulse quickens. 

“This is…” Oikawa turns it over in his hands, box now dropped to the sidewalk below, forgotten entirely, irrelevant. 

“A _1979 Kenner Millennium Falcon_ ,” Iwaizumi says.  

Oikawa examines the date stamped on the bottom of the little toy. It really is. Oikawa stares up at him in disbelief. 

“That’s the same one, right?” 

“Yeah…” Oikawa breathes out, and drops his bag, slumping against the wall next to Iwaizumi, sliding down to the ground because his legs have turned to jelly. 

He glances over at Iwaizumi, then back again to _The Falcon_.  

It’s same exact model he had when he was a kid, the one they lost in the move, the one that had belonged to his father, his _real_ father. The very same one he was crying his eyes out over, the day he met Iwaizumi for the first time, in the park next to his new apartment.   

It had been simultaneously one of the worst, and best days of his childhood. 

Oikawa keeps turning the little toy around his fingers. It’s covered in yellowed grime, and the paint is chipped along the various ridges. It’s smaller than he’d remembered it being, yet he knows it’s the same. He holds it delicately, admiring, as if it were a Fabergé egg. He’s never held something so precious.   

“The radar dish is missing and it’s not in great shape or anything, and I know it’s not the _same_ one but--” 

“Iwa-chan, shut up,” Oikawa spits -- there are tears escaping his eyes now, sliding down his face. He feels like a baby, and scrubs at his cheeks. A burning warmth in the pit of his stomach creeps up and chokes him. 

“Happy birthday, Tooru,” Iwaizumi mumbles. 

“I’m sorry I called your shirt stupid,” Oikawa finally says through his sniffles. “And your hair. And your face, and … well. Everything else I said. Sorry. How could you possibly have remembered?” 

Iwaizumi grumbles again. “How could I _forget_?” 

“This must have cost--” 

“The shipping alone was three month’s allowance,” Iwaizumi cuts him off. “It came from _Texas_ ,” he adds. 

“Texas…” Oikawa holds it up again, marveling at it in the dappled sunlight. He flies it through the air in front of him. 

Iwaizumi _must_ have been saving since junior high to afford it. The salt still stings his face.  

“So you’re not too old for toys now?” Iwaizumi smirks over at him. “Are you gonna stop making fun of me then?” 

“Oh definitely not,” Oikawa grins back, giving his cheeks another scrub with the back of his hand. “No self respecting high schooler needs _that many_ action figures, Iwa-chan.”  

“They’re _collectables,_ ” Iwaizumi growls.  

“The _Kaiju vs Transformers_ battle scene assembled on your bookshelf says otherwise.” 

Oikawa is only met with a grunt. He wants to throw his arms around Iwaizumi, and never let go. 

But he doesn’t. 

“Well, I’m starving!” Oikawa announces suddenly, standing, _The Falcon_ still clutched protectively in his left hand. He hoists his bag back up on his shoulder with his right.  

“Ramen?” Iwaizumi offers, pointing down the west end of the block behind them with his thumb. “My treat.” 

“Of course it’s your treat,” Oikawa smirks. “Like hell I’m paying, _it’s my birthday._ ” 

“See, you won’t shut up about it,” Iwaizumi gives an exasperated sigh along with his nth grumble that afternoon. 

“This is the first time I’ve said _anything_ all day!” Oikawa mocks his most scandalized expression.  

“Bullshit,” Iwaizumi counters. “At least _three times_ before lunch.” 

“Unfair! I did no such thing!” Oikawa whines and falls in step next to Iwaizumi.

Expectedly, they bicker throughout the entire walk downtown, but Oikawa is grateful, because it sure beats the silence. It is, he muses, certainly not the worst birthday he’s ever had.

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks, softly, interrupting their inane argument. 

“What?” 

“Thanks for still being my friend.”

Oikawa expects a stupid retort, a denial, another _Iwaizumi grunt._ What he gets instead surprises him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Iwaizumi sighs, and slaps him gently on the back. “Thanks for still being mine.”


End file.
